Sleep in Quiet
by Penthesilea
Summary: When Mal dies, he finds himself faced with his late fiancee, and a choice between life and death. Set during War Stories. Companion piece to "Shadows."


Author's Note: This is a companion piece (no pun intended) to "Shadows," another one of my fics. I'm not sure how well this one stands on its own, so I'd recommend reading "Shadows" first.  
  
Sleep in Quiet  
  
It has been said that death is akin to falling asleep, a gentle relaxation after the long toil of life. Death is the end to pain, the end to feeling. Falling from agony to downy rest.  
For Malcolm Reynolds, it was escape.  
He tried to cling to life as he was tortured. He tried to cling to hope, and to trust that Zoe would come back and rescue him. He tried to distract himself from the excruciating pain, thinking of times more pleasant, memories of family, friends and love. More often than not, his thoughts would turn to a woman with large dark eyes and long black hair, then his mind would be pulled from his fantasies to the ever-painful present. He could feel himself weakening from the blood loss, but he tried to hold on. He tried to convince himself that every second he held on was one second until Zoe and Jayne would kick open the door to save him. But the seconds passed, and the rescue did not come, and his hold on life grew slipperier. Finally, he gave up and let it go. He said his goodbyes to the world, allowing himself a moment to regret that he never told Inara why he kept coming to her shuttle. Then he let himself slide into the embrace of oblivion.  
Mal had heard talk of a long tunnel and a warm bright light greeting the newly dead. But he never saw any of that. For a moment that lasted only a heartbeat and forever, he knew nothing. Then he could see blonde hair and hazel eyes.  
He reached out and touched her cheek. She smiled and took his hand, resting her cheek against his palm. He could feel her against his hand, the warmth of her skin, her silky hair tickling his fingers.  
He started to speak, but she lifted a finger and pressed it against his lips.  
"Yeah," she whispered. "It's me."  
He wanted to smile and cry at the same time. He had spent six years coming to terms with Katie's downward spiral and suicide, and in those six years had gotten used to the emptiness where she should have been. Standing there, facing her, he became aware of how much he had missed her, how much he had lost when she had blown the back of her head out. And yet his heart was filled with a joy beyond words at seeing her again.  
All he could do was pull her close and hold her. He shut his eyes, and let himself feel only this moment, this moment of perfect joy at holding his fiancee again. But the moment ended. He felt something pulling him away from her, but he fought it off.  
"What is this?" he whispered. She pulled back to look him in the face.  
"Heaven?" she said, lifting her eyebrows the way she used to when she was asking a lighthearted question. She leaned up on her tiptoes and kissed him softly on the lips. "Hell? Somewhere in between?"  
"Can't be Hell," he said.  
"Really?" She brushed his hair back from his forehead. "How do you know?"  
"You're here."  
She grinned.  
"But so are you. Don't think neither of us were angels."  
He paused. Again, he fought off the pulling sensation. Katie looked away from him, lowering her eyes guiltily. The pulling stopped, and Mal tried to smile, to lighten the mood.  
"Well, at least it's not the special Hell. Unless you talked in the theatre," he said.  
She laughed, but her eyes were still sad.  
"Not me. No theatres on Shadow," she said.  
"I know."  
"But it's not Heaven either," she said.  
He stopped. She looked up at him apologetically, and reached up to touch his face, but he pushed her hand away.  
"Why not?" He felt his hope dissolve. Part of him, the part that still believed in a merciful God despite everything, had wanted it to be Heaven, just the two of them together.  
"Because you can't stay here," she said. She pulled away from him and turned her back to him.  
"Qu ta ma de!" he shouted. She whirled around, surprised at his sudden flare. "Why can't I? Haven't I lived through enough? Paid my dues?" He could feel his heart breaking for a second time. "Why can't I stay here with you?" he whispered.  
She stepped forward and took his head in her hands. She tilted it so that he looked her in the eye.  
"Because you still have something to live for," she said.  
He stared at her. For a long moment, he desperately tried to comprehend the words she had spoken, then the meaning sank in. Images flashed through his mind. His crew, his friends, his family, his life, his Serenity were waiting for him. Then the image of a beautiful dark-haired woman came to mind, and he knew he had left things unfinished.  
Katie let go of his head as she watched the realization dawn, smiled and nodded. He could feel the connection to his body and his life growing stronger. He took one last look at his love, then leaned down and kissed her, letting every time he had wished she was still alive flow into it. She tasted just like he remembered her.  
Then he let himself be pulled away. The swirling black returned, and he felt the same sensation of eternity compressed into a nanosecond.  
The agony coursed through him once more, and he knew he was alive. He gasped, tasting the metallic smell of blood mixed with recirculated air.  
  
"Mister Reynolds..." came a heavily accented voice somewhere in the darkness above him. He opened his eyes to see the face of an old man. For a moment, he wished he had stayed with Katie. At least she was better looking than Adelai Niska.  
"You died, Mister Reynolds," said Niska.  
"Seemed like the thing to do," retorted Mal. Well, it did at the time. Now, not so much.  
  
Author's Note: "Qu ta ma de" means "motherfucker" in Chinese. The title is from William Shakespeare's Romeo and Juliet, Act III, Scene 5, line 99.  
  
Disclaimer: Firefly is created by Joss Whedon. 


End file.
